Four Months
by IR Stars
Summary: Gordon is ill and he wants to get better, only he doesn't know how or when. This is a very emotional read, full of feels and angst. Written Pre IR during Gordon's recovery from his Hydrofoil crash.


Over the past 12 months I've been very unwell, and this story was written during one of my worst times, when I couldn't see an end to everything I was going through. I needed to find an outlet for my frustrations, and so I thought about Gordon and how he must of felt during his recovery. Writing this has helped me so much, but this story would not of been possible without the help of my beta and friend Quiller.

This story is a joint effort in more ways than one.

I hope this fic is a help to all those who are suffering or ill at the moment. There are good days ahead, just keep strong and keep going.

Written Pre IR, during Gordon's recovery from his Hydrofoil Crash, I don't own the Thunderbirds, I just like to write about them. 

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 **Four Months**

 **By IR Stars**

 **Beta Read By Quiller**

Today was not a good day for Gordon, today was a bad day. A painful, frustrating, nauseating, embarrassing and exhausting day. His own body was letting him down.

It had been four months! Four months since the accident. Four months since he'd entered that cockpit of that hydrofoil. Four months since he took it out for a test cruise. Four long months since he last felt human.

Lying in his bed, in the darkness of his room, he sighed, releasing a long slow breath. His chest muscles pinched with pain as they pulled across his chest, reminding him he was still unwell, and still useless. His broken body ached all over after four long months of recovery. Surely he must be getting better soon. Alongside the part of him that ached, other parts of him felt numb, if that was how it could be described, and that caused him so much frustration.

It had taken four months of being in hospital to reach this night. Four painful months till at last he'd been allowed to go home. Yes, he'd been in the best place, receiving the best of care from the medical teams who were helping to put his broken body back together again, providing him with much the needed physiotherapy and care that he needed to get his broken body working again.

Today, however, they were letting him go home.

Jeff and Scott had arrived to collect him, both looking relieved to be bringing their injured son, and brother, back to the island. Back home.

Gordon had been glad to be leaving, glad to be out of that hospital, glad to be surrounded by his family once again, back where he belonged.

Upon finally seeing the rest of his family and their smiling faces, he'd been reminded that there was still a life for him, and a future for him their father's secret plans.

But now as he lay here in his room, the old feelings of uselessness and fear washed over him. He was felt he was no good to anyone, that he was a burden. When these thoughts hit him, Gordon tried to remind himself it was just his low spirits and medications talking, but he was in so much pain and discomfort, that he wondered if he would ever recover and return to full health. He may have been released from hospital, but his mind felt like it was still trapping him in a mental prison, caused by everything he was feeling, fearing it would not let him go.

Gordon had had enough of pain and recovering; he just wanted to be well again. Was that too much to ask?

Rolling over onto his left side, he sighed, feeling the long slow breath leave his body. As his chest muscles contracted he allowed his eyes to drift over the floor, moving over towards the window at the far side of the room. The blinds were pulled apart, allowing the reflection of the moonlight on the ocean below to shine up on to the ceiling. The thin dancing tendrils of watery light sent a cooling white light into the room, helping to reduce the constant headache Gordon seemed to carry around with him.

Watching the watery moonlight, Gordon focused on the other aches and pains around the rest of his body. His spine around his lower back pinched and hurt, his hips felt sore and his legs ached. They also felt so heavy. Sometimes sudden sparks shot through his muscles as the nerves within them healed and adjusted to being used once again.

Thinking back, Gordon remembered what he had gone through to reach this stage of abilities with his body. Learning to walk up and down a corridor again, to climb stairs, lift himself out of his bed, to pick up a pen, learn how to use a knife and fork. The simple, ordinary actions in life that normal healthy people took for granted.

Gordon had to admit he felt jealous when he looked at the people around him with their perfect functioning bodies, just doing ordinary things without thinking about it. It was so unfair that he was the way he was. But every time that thought crossed his mind he had to remind himself not to think like that, that he was lucky to be alive, lucky to be able to receive medical treatment, lucky to be able to move at all. Gordon Tracy, the lucky Tracy.

He struggled to maintain that mind set when the doctors had informed him that he would spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. Gordon remembered vehemently telling the doctors that they were wrong. He told them he would walk again, and live again. He was an Olympic Champion and Olympic Champions never gave up, never. Though right now, lying in his own bed, in his room, he was feeling a bit like giving up. He was pretty exhausted, exhausted with everything.

Returning his thoughts to his body, Gordon concentrated on his arms; they felt like lead, while his hands, they felt the most mysterious to him.

Lifting them from under his quilt, holding them palm up to his face, the dim light in his room reflected off his slender digits. They felt so strange, like they were within invisible gloves. A warm, uncomfortable ache resided within his wrists, spreading up each of his fingers, making them feel almost rubbery, and at their tips was a slight burning sensation moving within his skin. This odd sensation in his fingers made it very difficult to pick up items, or hold anything for long periods of time, such as the hot chocolate he'd managed to spill across his knees earlier.

When Gordon had been welcomed home by his family earlier, they had asked what he would like most of all, and he'd said he wanted one of his Grandmother's famous hot chocolates. So Ruth Tracy had made one just for him, with whipped cream, chocolate drops and chocolate powder on top. It smelled wonderful, warming, and of home. Mustering up enough strength to take his first sip, Gordon had raised the cup to his lips and enjoyed the sensation of the drink entering his mouth. His Grandmother had surpassed herself again.

He enjoyed his first sip, but then disaster struck. He felt his fingers give an involuntary shake, and being unable to control the motion, Gordon had let go of the cup.

Gordon once again felt the sensation of the hot chocolate spreading across his lap, followed by the warm flush of embarrassment rising up within him, his face blushing as he remembering watching his brothers trying not to react too much when they saw him spill his drink. Again remembering the shame he felt as he looked away while they worked together to help tidy him up.

Trying to contain both his anger and embarrassment from the memories, Gordon balled his hands into fists, striking one of them against his pillow. He was so fed up and angry with what was happening with him that he just wished he could wave a magic wand and everything would be all right again.

Deep down he didn't want his family to know how frustrated and angry he was with himself. He had hoped that thinking over his situation and releasing some of his pent up tensions in his own room would help him feel better. It didn't.

The movement of striking the pillow, instead of releasing tension in his body, jolted his head and his neck, which still felt stiff and uncomfortable, causing stabs of pain to spark up his neck muscles. The awful sensation continued to travel up behind his head, moving across the top of his skull, which at times felt like a tight band was being squeezed around it, with no way to relieve the pressure. Just adding to the continuing list pains he was suffering all over his body.

This had been Gordon's life from when he was woken from his induced coma back at the hospital, to now, as he ever so slowly recovered, living each of his days with varying degrees of pain and discomfort.

Some days it was bearable, and on others it was beyond words. On those days he'd feel tired and angry with himself, and the world around him, including his family.

Then on the better days the pain and discomfort might dissipate, and lessen, fooling him into thinking he was getting better.

On those days, he would feel guilty and foolish for being so angry and frustrated with everyone around him. Gordon was a pleasant, cheerful person, who thrived on positives and laughter. Not someone who dwelt in dark moods and dark places. But hours later the pain and discomfort would return, making him feel just as uncomfortable and useless as he had before.

The pillow under his cheek felt damp. Gordon had been so angry with himself, he hadn't noticed the tears falling from his eyes. He'd been suffering like this for so long that he'd forgotten what it was like to feel well. To believe he was a strong, healthy young man, not struggling to live every day. Using all of his inner strength to just keep going, to show a smile and pretend to the world that things were okay, that things were getting better. That he was the Gordon Tracy everyone knew and loved.

Right now though, he was not that Gordon Tracy, things were not getting better, nor did they seem to be getting better, and it was those thoughts that frightened him.

All he wanted now was for someone to turn off the nerves in his body. To let him be pain free and full of energy like he used to be.

The effort of trying to be strong, to maintain a hope within himself, that he was going to get better, was making him feel exhausted, depressed, and seriously pissed off! He'd just wanted to be well again. Why couldn't he just be well again? He struck his pillow again, hard, his breath coming in short bursts as he cried out in pain, before returning to silently crying to himself.

"Gordo?"

A quiet voice filled the room, along with the glow of light from the corridor outside his bedroom, causing Gordon to suck in a slight breath. He wanted to be alone with his emotions; he didn't want sympathy or smothering. He wanted to get better. He didn't want his brothers, he just wanted to get better. But he was so tired.

"Gordon, I heard you cry out."

Gordon didn't respond, only his eyes moved as they looked towards the light moving over the ripples of his quilt, covering his broken body. The dark and light shadows between the material folds reflected the rise and fall of his moods.

Gordon tried to roll over to look back at his bedroom door. Wincing as his back muscles rippled with pain, his blankets tangled their way around his legs causing him to kick out frustration. Gordon cried out again as the sparks of pain travelled up his muscles.

"Gordon, please don't move. I know how much it must hurt you."

The dark and slender silhouette of Gordon's older brother standing in the bright lit doorway had flinched at that sound of his brother's voice and was now moving towards him.

"John?" Damn his voice, he'd tried to sound normal as he called out, but his pent up emotions and exhaustion made him sound like an old man. Ignoring the painful ache in his eyes from the artificial light, Gordon lay still and silent as John came towards him, a slight frown crossing his face as he moved to sit in the chair by his brother's bed.

Watching him, Gordon felt a slight prickle of amusement as he witnessed John give a little wriggle, as he tried to get his lanky frame comfortable on the many cushions that covered the chair.

"Why you have so many cushions for one chair, Gordo?"

"Hey, I like to be comfy, " he interrupted, annoyed at John making comments about his own room. John ignored the tone of voice he heard coming from his brother.

When he was finally settled, John remained silent as he sat quiet looking over his younger brother.

Gordon felt, as well as saw, John's aqua blue eyes observing every inch of his face and body. The look pierced into his very soul, reading his body like one of the many books John usually had his hands.

It wasn't long though till Gordon felt annoyed by this silent observation of him, his mind returning to the current frustrations he was already suffering. He didn't need this, he didn't need sympathy, he didn't need company, and he didn't need this silence between them.

But neither did he want to be alone.

Being alone meant he would feel his pain and discomfort more than if he had company there to distract him. All day Gordon had tried to hide his true feelings from his family, and how much he was hurting, because he didn't want to hurt and upset them.

But hearing how weak and broken his voice sounded just a moment ago, he knew John would instinctively know that Gordon was not happy, and would not want to be alone.

After a tiring day trying to hide his real feelings and emotions, Gordon had retreated to his room where he could drop his emotional defences, and allow himself to realise his true emotions. Where nobody could see him, and where he would not upset anyone. But it also meant being alone with his suffering, and being alone was something that Gordon hated. He hated loneliness, and it felt even worse being alone in his world of pain and discomfort.

Right now, however, he was not alone. John was here with him, looking over him, like he used to do as a child.

Concerned aqua blue eyes met pain filled honey burnt eyes.

Gordon knew that John could see his true emotions, that he knew that deep down that Gordon needed him, that he was suffering alone and he didn't want to be.

Gordon didn't want to admit it, but he was pleased John was here with him. John seemed to have a presence which calmed him the most out of all his brothers. Whenever he was feeling angry or frustrated, John was always there to help calm him down, bringing his emotions back to earth.

These silent moments between them always reminded Gordon of a memory from his childhood when he was about four. His Mom had made him to go to bed for being naughty. He'd painted Alan's hair bright orangey red because he wanted a red headed brother, not another blond one. When Lucille had discovered her baby covered in the paint it had not taken her long to find the culprit. Gordon had literally been caught red handed. But that night, after a firm telling off, he was struggling to get to sleep. He was very frustrated and angry with himself at being caught out, then being told off, and then punished.

John, at the time, was very much the family insomniac. He was happy to stay up with a good book, or looking through his telescope at the stars, much to their Mom and Dad's annoyance.

On this particular night, John had seen Gordon being sent to bed in disgrace. Gordon had being so angry that he was struggling to settle himself down enough to get to sleep. His anger, frustration and confusion caused him to toss and turn across his bed, his bedding tangling more and more around him, as sleep became an impossible task.

John had heard Gordon's shufflings, and decided to come into the room to find out what was happening. Just then, as now, John had entered the room in silence, sat in a chair by Gordon's bedside, placed a book on his knee, and began reading out loud. His voice and mere presence providing the calming influence that an exhausted sibling needed, distracting a tired Gordon from his thoughts, helping him to settle down enough to get to sleep.

Since then, whenever Gordon was angry, or unwell, John would spend time with him, sitting by his bed talking, reading in silence, or sometimes aloud. Providing companionship, quiet company and a feeling of safety for Gordon that his other brothers weren't quite able to achieve.

That's what John was doing now. Yet again adjusting his tall slender frame back in the chair cushions, getting himself comfy, giving Gordon another glance, taking in his emotional as well as physical state. Gordon knew he must look awful, but John didn't need to tell him that.

Sucking in a breath, John spoke, breaking the tension in the room. "Do you mind if I turn the lamp on for a while, Gordon?"

Gordon shook his head, "No, go ahead." As he watched John reach over to his beside lamp, Gordon felt the tight emotional tensions within him, at last, begin to loosen, like the turning of the tide on the island's shore.

John turned back, the light of the lamp washing over his shoulder. It was then that Gordon noticed a small paperback in John's hand, a finger placed inside its well thumbed, yellowing pages. Adjusting his head, trying to ignore the sharp niggles of pain that shot up his spine, Gordon grinned a little as he noticed the words on the cover of the book, Don't Panic!, knowing instantly that it was one of John's and his favourites. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. A vision of a whale and a bowl of petunias falling to earth filled Gordon's mind's eye, and he couldn't help but smile to himself.

John noticed Gordon's brief grin, and a small sparkle return to his eyes. It pleased him to see it, and know that he still had the old knack of being able to calm Gordon down, and bring him comfort in times of distress.

Opening his book, he tilted it, so that if Gordon wanted to read over his shoulder he could. The well thumbed pages brushed against his fingers as he began to read himself, silence once again returning to the room. However the silence was no longer filled with the tension of an uncomfortable and pain filled atmosphere. It was a silence filled with sibling comfort and companionship, like when they were children, the only sounds now being Gordon and John's quiet breaths, with the occasional turn of a paper page.

It had been a good day and a bad day for Gordon. A painful, frustrating, nauseating, embarrassing and exhausting day. But not all his days were going to be this bad, not everything was going to go wrong for him, and not all Gordon's days in the future were going to be bad either. He had his family and brothers to help him. His brothers were always going to be there for him. They would help free him from his problems and pain. He did not need to suffer on his own and it was John's presence now that reminded him that he was not alone.

Yes, every day he had to fight the weaknesses in his body, every day he knew a little bit of him was going to get better, even if it wasn't going to be an instant recovery for him. Yes, this was going to take time, time for him to heal, relearn how to live. Not every day would be an easy day, but soon things would get better, he would get better and he would recover.

With the love and support of his family and friends, they would help get him back to being the old Gordon Tracy he used to be. Gordon Tracy, the lucky Tracy.

As long as he didn't end up like the bowl of petunias saying "Oh no, not again." Allowing himself another smile at that happy thought, Gordon allowed himself at last to relax, rest and get the healing sleep that he needed so much.


End file.
